Memoirs of a Spashley Addict
by Snow Duchess
Summary: SoN Oneshot Collection. This will be a compilation of non-related oneshots written for my SaveSpashley Creative Writing Campaign. Will include Spashley and other characters as well.
1. Not Exactly

Memoirs of a Spashley Addict

_Disclaimer__: I do not own South of Nowhere_

_Premise__: This will be a collection of non-related oneshots (500 words or less) written for my very own SaveSpashley Creative Writing Campaign. Future additions will be posted in accordance with the theme changes throughout spring and summer. Visit the campaign section of savespashley (dot) com or PM me to find out more._

_**Submission:** April 11, 2008_

_**Theme 1:**__ PostSecret Challenge_

_**Secret Tagline:**__ Spencer: "Was Ashley's suggestive touch unwelcome? …not exactly."_

_**Setting:**__ Season 1 teaser "Spencer's Bedroom."_

* * *

**Not Exactly**

When I first came to the City of Angels, I could tell things were vastly different from small-town Ohio: the sights, the people, the atmosphere. Everything seemed huge to me, diverse and intimidating. Then, after spending the afternoon braving the streets of L.A. with my new friend, well, it was still huge and diverse, but it didn't seem so intimidating anymore. Maybe it was because I was beginning to get used to it. Or maybe it was because Ashley just had a way of making it more spontaneously fun than touristy.

Sitting on the floor of my room, I flipped idly through a magazine as I leaned against my bed. I laughed to myself as I recalled a particular experience at a local café. We had stopped there for smoothies, and while I grabbed us a table, the cute guy behind the counter had begun not-so-subtly hitting on my friend. I was hardly surprised: Ashley was a gorgeous girl by any standard. What I didn't expect was how quickly she had seemed to brush him off in favor of chatting with me.

I, of course, couldn't help but tease her about it all the way back to my house. I playfully tossed my words behind me as Ashley freshened up in my adjoining bathroom. "Did you give him your phone number?"

"No!" she called back in exasperation.

"He was _so_ in to you, and covered in tattoos!" I drawled in a singsong voice.

"What_ever_."

I grinned at my friend's bored tone. Glancing over my shoulder as the brunette reentered my room, I chuckled and threw a casual elbow up onto the edge of my bed. "What, you're not in to that?" Turning back to my magazine, I felt the bed move as the older girl crawled onto it.

"Uh, no," Ashley murmured quietly as she flopped onto her stomach behind me. One hand came to rest lightly on my bicep. Her other hand trailed down my arm to gently entwine our fingers. "Not exactly."

Admittedly, I had become engrossed in a photo-rich article about Angelina (oh, and Brad), so Ashley's cryptic meaning was slow to register with me. When it finally clicked, I looked at our interlaced hands, my mouth falling open. I suddenly became acutely aware of several things: the warm softness of Ashley's skin on mine; the faint scent of her waterflowers body mist; her brown eyes locking onto my profiled face; her tiny smirk as she watched comprehension dawn on me.

Now, I had learned from the moment we met that she was a very forward person, but the shock was unavoidable. The only other times I had encountered this subject was during brief discussions (read: preaching lectures) in church group back in Ohio. Was I startled by her candor? A bit. Did I care if my new friend was gay? Of course not.

What I was scared of was the answer to the other question running through my mind: was Ashley's suggestive touch unwelcome?

…not exactly.

_End._


	2. The Weights of Life

Memoirs of a Spashley Addict

_**Submission:**__ April 23, 2008_

_**Theme 1:**__ PostSecret Challenge_

_**Secret Tagline:**__ Aiden: "I'm terrified of the gym."_

* * *

**The Weights of Life**

All right, so I have something that I need to get off my well-chiseled chest. This is possibly the most embarrassing thing in the history of jockdom, so please don't laugh, and could you maybe keep this just between us?

Yes? Good.

So here goes.

I'm…uh…terrified of the gym.

There, I said it.

I, Aiden Dennison, ex-basketball star, kickboxing/weight-lifting enthusiast is absolutely petrified of the one place at which I spend most of my time.

I guess I'd better tell you the story so I don't sound like a complete idiot.

You see, I used to be the chubby fat kid. The one that everyone made fun of. The last pick in gym class.

Mom was so ashamed.

She used to drag me to the local YMCA after school every day for two years in my very early teens, and let me tell you: the one thing more humiliating than _me_ being afraid of the gym is being forced to exercise with your mom standing right there watching you like a hawk to make sure you don't slack off. After those first two years, I promised her I'd keep going if she would just stay home.

So there I was. Short. Chubby. Shaggy-haired. Generally out of place in a building full of burly men and toned women. I gasped for air like a fish out of water on the treadmill, I got my ass kicked by a punching bag instead of the other way around, and at one point, I almost suffocated under an errant barbell that had it in for me (when my vision came back into focus, I was mortified to find that a twenty-year old hot blonde had been the one to lift the weight off my neck).

People would stare. Some in pity. Some in amusement. Some in annoyance that the slow fat kid was taking up their equipment. It was horrible. Then there was the locker room, prolonging my disgrace with my need to change clothes. And don't even get me started on the shower stalls. I've seen cleaner septic tanks.

Years have passed since then. I'm not short, I'm not chubby, I have better hair (well, until recently), and I'm definitely not last pick, but as fit and good-looking as I may be, my insecurities haven't left me. After all, people still gawk at me, only now in awe, jealousy, or even lust. Not just the women, but some of the men, too. Either way, I'm scarred for life.

In the end, I'm still just that chubby little fat kid inside waiting to sneak a candy bar out of his gym bag when no one is looking.

Promise you won't tell anyone? _Please?_

_End._


	3. The Apple and the Tree

Memoirs of a Spashley Addict

_**Submission:**__ May 13, 2008_

_**Theme 1:**__ PostSecret Challenge_

_**Secret Tagline:**__ Paula: "I kissed a girl."_

_Random inspiration tonight. Not quite sure how I feel about this one, but whatever. Hope you like it._

* * *

**The Apple and the Tree**

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, they say.

For those children whose parents are unconditionally loving and accepting and supportive, that popular idiom is an encouraging thought.

For those who were raised in fear by a firm hand, vowing to be nothing like their parents, it's a curse. A self-fulfilling prophecy.

I learned from a very early age that God and His Divine Law came first, even above family. To step out of line in Mother's eyes resulted in a lashing, and not always of the verbal variety. As a child, of course, it was inevitable that I would disappoint her.

When I was eleven years old, I kissed a girl.

Suzie was my best friend, and I loved her dearly. It was innocent enough, but Mother, of course, walked in and saw it happen. Crying, I could only watch as Suzie was pulled away from me, dragged through the house, and pushed out the door.

Mother slapped me and asked if I knew why. When I said no, she told me what I did was disgusting and that God would never forgive me for what I did.

Afterwards, Suzie was no longer welcome at our house, and I was forbidden from seeing her.

I never really understood _why _it was wrong. It certainly didn't _feel_ wrong to me. All I knew was what Mother told me. Kissing another girl was a sin. God didn't like sinners. Sinners went to Hell. The why never mattered. It just was. Only eleven, I hadn't yet developed that streak of teenage rebellion, and I was easily molded by my mother's ideals. Branded by her unfounded fears. Scarred by her double-edged love.

Since then, I've started my own family and thus become the tree. My daughter, growing ripe in her teenage years, tumbled from my branch. Old roots grow deep, and the question of where she would land was the catalyst to a history doomed to repeat.

Spencer kissed a girl.

I turned into the God-fearing monster my mother always wanted me to be. I slapped my daughter for befriending someone that reminded me too much of Suzie. I tried to sculpt her with my Catholic values. I tried to poison her with my "good morals." I tried to rip her heart open by cutting the person she loved out of her life.

And I almost lost my little girl because of it.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Sometimes, though, it falls just far enough.

See, Spencer was older than I had been. She fought back. And what a long battle it was.

In the calm that has followed, I've grown so proud of my daughter's strength—a strength I never had. To have watched her transcend my faults is the greatest satisfaction a mother can ever experience.

I watch Spencer as she sits in the living room, laughing at Glen's face when Ashley obliterates his high score in that guitar game. I see the smile on her face. The happiness in her eyes. The love in her heart. And I thank God for the breath of wind that nudged her out from my shadow. For that sloping ground that made her landing easier.

For the girl she kissed, who stole her heart won't let go.

_End._


	4. Dreaming Still

Memoirs of a Spashley Addict

_**Submission:**__ May 17, 2008_

_**Theme 2:**__ Speculations_

_**Setting:**__ Morning after the trench coat fell._

* * *

**Dreaming Still**

Blue eyes blinked open. The waking blonde felt gentle fingers in her hair and heard a quiet 'good morning' in her ear. Turning her head, those blue orbs met brown.

Spencer smiled sleepily. "Morning."

"I had the craziest dream last night," Ashley murmured as she played with a strand of blonde hair.

"Yeah?"

"Mm. I dreamt that this completely gorgeous blonde showed up at my door in nothing but a trench coat."

Spencer gave a lazy smirk. "Oh really? What happened?"

"She let it fall to the floor. The view was quite nice."

"Did you wake up right at the good part?" the blonde guessed with a chuckle.

"Nah. I'm pretty sure I'm still dreaming."

With that, Ashley lowered her mouth onto Spencer's. They lay quietly then, fingers tracing idle patterns on bare skin as they basked in the foreign serenity. For a rare moment, all was perfect in their world.

Until Spencer looked at the clock.

"Oh god, I overslept!"

Ashley could only watch in dismay as the blonde scrambled out of bed. "For what?"

"School, maybe?"

"Isn't it career day? No one will even notice, so you're fine."

"Easy for you to say," Spencer countered as she turned circles—naked, much to Ashley's amusement—eyes desperately raking over the floor. "_You're_ mother isn't going to ground you until Kingdom—_Where are my_ _clothes?!_"

"Um, Spence?"

"What?"

"You weren't wearing any."

"Oh."

"And I believe the trench coat is still at the front door."

"Ah."

"And I don't think they'd let you show up to school in just that anyway."

"Right."

Ashley smirked as she climbed out of bed, walking to her dresser. Pulling several articles of clothing out of the drawers, she tossed them to a frantic Spencer before choosing something for herself to wear. While the two dressed, the brunette could hear the younger girl muttering something about her mother killing her.

"I thought Paula was okay with everything now."

"She's okay with my being _gay_, Ash. She's not okay with me showing up to school four hours late because I was _sleeping _with my girlfriend!"

Fully clothed, Spencer rushed past Ashley and made for the door. She was stopped when a hand grabbed her own, forcing their eyes to meet.

Almost shyly, the brunette dropped her gaze down to their linked hands. "…girlfriend?"

The blonde softened, stepping closer to her and causing brown eyes to look up. "If you want to be…You've changed, Ashley, and I like what I see."

The older girl bit her bottom lip, giving a bashful half smile. "…I love you."

"I never stopped." A tender kiss, and Spencer reluctantly pulled away. "I really do have to go."

Ashley nodded even as she pulled her girlfriend closer, "I know."

Their lips met again.

"Really."

"Uh huh."

And again.

"Seriously, this time."

"Right."

Needless to say, Spencer didn't quite make it out the door as quickly as she had intended. She was already four hours late. What was another twenty minutes?

_End._


	5. Beach Balls and Blindfolds

Memoirs of a Spashley Addict

_**Submission:**__ May 31, 2008_

_**Theme 2:**__ Speculations_

_**Premise:**__ Based on a clip of dialogue in one of the promos._

_A little over 500 words, but oh well. This is an excerpt from the finale to Lifeline, my big Spashley story._

* * *

**Beach Balls and Blindfolds**

"So, are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"Nope."

"Please?"

"Nuh uh."

"Pretty please?"

"Oh, I have you begging already? Wow, that's gotta be a new record."

"Ash."

"What?"

"Don't play innocent. It looks better on me."

"Would you prefer sexy naughty?" Ashley offered in the most velvety tone she could muster.

"I'd prefer truthful candor."

"That's boring."

"You think I'm boring?"

"No. I think your lack of adventure is boring."

"You're not making me want to follow you." Spencer threw up her hands when the brunette pouted. "Ugh, _fine_."

Ashley grinned goofily and bounced a little. "Yay."

Rolling her eyes at the childlike behavior, The blonde watched warily as her lover pulled a long strip of silk cloth out of her pocket. "A blindfold? Really, Ash?"

"Yeah. Kinky, isn't it?" Ashley moved around behind Spencer and covered the blonde's eyes with her hands, the cloth dangling from between her fingers. "Do you trust me?" she murmured into her lover's ear.

"Yes."

With a smile, Ashley dropped soft kisses on Spencer's ear, down her neck and onto her shoulder. Carefully, she stretched the blindfold across the taller girl's eyes, making sure to not get blonde hair caught as she tied a loose knot. Sliding around in front of Spencer again, Ashley kissed up her lover's jaw to the corner of her mouth, repeating the gesture on the other side of the girl's face. She ghosted over Spencer's lips, smiling as the girl reflexively tried for more contact. Instead, the brunette pressed a kiss to the blonde's forehead.

"No peeking."

Guiding Spencer to sit in the Porsche, Ashley hopped into the driver's seat and started up the engine. With the warm sun shining down and the air rushing over them, they rode in silence, anticipating (or wondering) what was to come of the day. Ashley's hand remained linked with Spencer's to make sure the girl didn't feel so isolated under her blindfold.

When she finally parked the car, the brunette unbuckled both of their seatbelts, their fingers still interlaced. "Do you remember the first time that you realized you were gay?" she asked softly.

The blonde smiled at the memory. "At the beach. How could I forget that?"

Gently, Ashley removed the blindfold, and Spencer blinked against the brightness of the sun. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she was greeted by the sight of the ocean. The first thing she noticed was that a good strip of the beach, including the familiar pier, was deserted.

"Did you _rent out_ the beach?"

"Part of it. I would've rented out the entire California coastline for you, but I figured that wouldn't be fair to everyone else," the girl explained cheekily.

Spencer attempted to hide her awe. "I don't have my swim suit."

"Who said you'd need it?" Ashley posed seductively with a waggle of her eyebrows. She quickly jumped out of the car to the sound of the blonde's laughter.

Spencer took her time climbing out of the Porsche, still marveling at the emptiness of the beach for a half mile to either side of the pier. The ocean surged up onto the sand in gentle waves. The sky was clear and blue. Seagulls drifted overhead, riding the thermals over the coast. It reminded Spencer so very much of that day the previous year.

A beach ball hit her in the head.

That was new.

"Come on, slowpoke!" Ashley called, smirking from a short distance away. "Hurry up!"

With a grin, Spencer took off and chased after the mischievous brunette. Some things never change.

_End._


	6. Spashley Ever After

Memoirs of a Spashley Addict

_**Submission:**__ May 31, 2008_

_**Theme 2:**__ Speculations_

_**Setting:**__ Future-based final webisode._

_Horribly cliché, and I don't like it all that much, but what can you do? And just to clarify (in case there was even just a shred of doubt in your mind), Aiden may have the IQ of a single sperm cell, but he is __**NOT**__ the donor ;)_

* * *

**Spashley Ever After**

The delivery room buzzed with activity. Nurses scurried around in preparation while the doctor stayed at her patient's side.

"Where is she?"

"Breathe, Spencer," Paula advised. "You need to keep your breathing steady."

"_Where is she?_" the younger woman repeated, nearing panic.

"Flying back from New York, same as she was five minutes ago."

"Well, the baby is just going to have to stay in until she gets here."

"Spencer—"

"I'm serious! This baby is not coming out unless Ash is here!"

Paula gave her daughter's hand a squeeze. "You're almost at ten centimeters. I don't think you can control that, sweetie."

"_Watch_ _me_." On cue, another contraction hit, leaving the stubborn blonde gasping in pain. She clenched her teeth. "…I'm going to kill her."

Fortune was smiling on Spencer (fortune meaning Ashley's millions), and a commotion was heard approaching the delivery room. A flustered brunette pushed through the swinging doors, immediately swarmed by nurses fitting her with a hospital cap and gown.

"Oh, thank God," Paula whispered.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Spencer demanded.

"I'm so sorry, Spence. I took a private jet and a helicopter just to get here." Finally breaking past the medical technicians, Ashley brushed strands of sweat-soaked hair from her wife's forehead and kissed her soundly. "Are you okay?"

"You're late," Spencer murmured.

"You're early," Ashley countered. "But I love you anyway."

This won a smile from the blonde, quickly mirrored by the brunette.

"Spencer?" Paula called from her daughter's feet. "Ready to start pushing?"

Ashley gave her wife a reassuring smile, kissing the back of her hand. With a steadying breath, Spencer nodded to her mother. Doctor Carlin signaled to the nurses that they were starting.

"All right. Here we go."

What happened next can only be described as a jumble of screams, bruising grips, encouraging words, cursing of their nameless male donor, and more screams. In the end, it was all punctuated by the unmistakable sound of a newborn crying.

Hours later find the two women sitting in a different room, in a different hospital bed, with a small bundle held in Spencer's arms. Head resting on the blonde's shoulder, Ashley gazed down at the sleeping infant, a light fingertip tracing over a tiny hand. Caitlin Elizabeth Carlin-Davies.

"Ten years," Ashley mused quietly.

"Went by fast."

"And I've loved every second."

Between them, the fingers of their free hands entwined and, as though sensing the family moment, a miniature fist closed around Ashley's index finger. The infant slept soundly, but her grip was still surprisingly strong.

"I think it's safe to say this one's going to be a heartbreaker."

"Like her mom," Spencer agreed.

Ashley raised a brow, looking up at her wife. "Which one?"

The blonde took in the tuft of dark hair atop her daughter's head and the perfect little nose. Two bright blue eyes blinked open, focusing on the faces hovering above.

"I'll let you know."

Ten years had passed, and forever still lay ahead of them.

_End._


	7. Broken Chains

Memoirs of a Spashley Addict

_**Submission:**__ June 7, 2008_

_**Theme 3:**__ Into the Spotlight_

_**Character:**__ Patrick_

* * *

**Broken Chains**

On the day of my Confirmation, my dad gave me his antique gold pocket watch.

It was a family heirloom, passed down from father to son for the past five generations, making me the sixth in the line to receive it.

I was thirteen. Humble. Benevolent. Devout. Everything a good Catholic son should be. Dad was proud of me on that day. After the ceremony, he took me aside, knelt down to my level with his hand on my shoulder and told me I was everything he had hoped for in his only child.

Two pairs of eyes glistened as he handed me the newly polished watch, clipping the chain to my dress jacket and letting the comfortable weight settle into my pocket.

It was one of the last days I can remember getting along with him.

With the season of high school came the season of change. No, of revelation. I was still humble. I was still benevolent. I was still devout. But I realized I wasn't everything a good Catholic son should be. At least, not according to what I had been taught.

Dad didn't like Connor from the moment the two met.

He and Mom both said I shouldn't associate with a bad influence, someone so blatantly 'against God.'

I couldn't _not_ be friends with him, though. Connor was, without a doubt, the opposite of everything wholesomely Catholic I had been raised to believe. I think that's what drew me to him. Needless to say, weekly confession became quite the…interesting…chore.

Dad did everything in his power to limit our friendship, and Mom did everything in _her_ power to set me up with a 'nice normal girl'—all daughters of our fellow church goers. When I wasn't in school or in worship or confined to my room for studying, I was often suffering through a blind date.

The dinner with Spencer and her family was just one of many.

A sort of equilibrium was somehow established. Fragile, though it was, it prevailed for a surprising length of time. I jumped through the hoops my parents set, bathing myself in the light of the Holy Spirit to ease their worries, while I indulged in my escalating relationship with Connor in the shadows. Not the most enjoyable of situations, but it worked.

Then came the day Dad caught us in a more-than-friendly embrace.

After Connor was thrown out of the house, Dad struck me across the face and told me I was the biggest disappointment in his life. He told me I was a disgrace to the family, a vile sinner, and ill beyond repair.

Two pairs of eyes glistened as he ripped the watch out of my pocket.

I tried to hold on to it, tried to cling to the pride he once had in me, the love he once held for me, but the golden chain caught between our hands split and broke.

I was his only son. The only child my mother had birthed. Five generations of tradition, now threatening to end with me. _Because_ of me.

Can you see now why I so desperately sought Spencer's affections?

To know she was gay even before she told me, to have heard the same lamenting in her voice as I've heard in my own, it wasn't hard to guess that her girlfriend was rejected by her family the same as Connor was by mine. I chased after her like it was a dream. A grim fairy tale that we were a perfect fit, so different and yet so alike because of it. That being together could somehow work, that we could appease our families and still each live out our indiscretions within a mutual understanding.

It didn't quite go as planned. I don't know whether to be dejected or relieved. Spencer has a strength to be admired, while all I am left with is half a chain, its golden links incomplete and without purpose. A stark reminder of the family that was and the family that is.

Funny. Broken chains are supposed to leave a person feeling liberated. All I feel, though, is an empty pocket.

_End._


	8. Froot Loops

Memoirs of a Spashley Addict

_**Submission:**__ June 27, 2008_

_**Theme 4:**__ Deep Thoughts_

_**Setting:**__ Post Gay Pride, Ashley ponders the future._

* * *

**Froot Loops**

I love Froot Loops.

It was my favorite cereal as a kid. I ate those multihued little rings of fake fruity goodness every morning for years. (It wasn't until high school that I appreciated the irony of my preference for the rainbow-colored food.)

It remains my first choice to this day, even if I don't have it as often. The reason it's my favorite, though, has evolved. You see, the morning after Spencer's first night staying over, I offered to make her breakfast as a meager thank you for taking care of me. The lingering 'party favor' effects killed my own desire to eat, but I was willing to make her whatever she wanted.

She could have asked for pancakes.

She could have asked for an omelet.

Hell, she could have asked for steak, and I would've butchered the cow for her.

But no.

Spencer asked if I had Froot Loops.

And I fell in love with her just a little bit more.

The fact that she was eating those infamous rainbow grains mere hours after accepting the idea of 'us' wasn't lost on me. It was rather fitting, actually.

Life took a bad turn, though, and I haven't eaten them again until this morning.

Spencer just rushed out the door a short while ago, having slept through half the school day. Even though she had to leave, I'm still sitting here, at my kitchen table, smiling like a fool in love as I chew my cereal. For the first time in months, I finally feel like my life is coming back into focus. Not only is my record deal in the works, but I just may get another chance with the love of my life.

Now, few consider Ashley Davies the type of girl to think about the future, and maybe that used to be true. People change, however, and now I can't help the thoughts running through my mind.

I poke around in my bowl and scoop a loop of every color onto my spoon: red, purple, yellow, orange, green, and—my personal favorite—blue. I stare at the cereal for a moment, then look up across the table.

You know what I see?

A dark-haired, brown-eyed boy and a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl, no older than four and five years, munching on their very own bowls of Froot Loops. Goofy smiles on their faces, mirrored by my own. Two giggles—music to my ears—as I crouch over my bowl and slurp the colored rings off my spoon, never breaking from their bright gazes. I can almost feel the hand that lands gently on my shoulder, the kiss on my cheek and then my lips as I turn to face a slightly older Spencer.

The mirage fades as I empty my bowl, but my smile remains. The pregnancy of my sophomore year was a juvenile fantasy, but this…this is what I want. A music career is my life's ambition, yes, but a family with Spencer is my _life, _period.

I love Froot Loops.

It's the cereal dreams are made of.

_End._


	9. When Lovers Paint

Memoirs of a Spashley Addict

_**Submission:**__ July 16, 2008_

_**Theme 5:**__ Director's Cut_

_**Setting: **__Missing scene in Love and War and Love and War_

* * *

**When Lovers Paint**

Many have said painting can be therapeutic.

When it comes in the form of firearms and shooting one's family and friends, I'd have to agree.

After an hour chock full of stalking, baiting, familial massacre, friendly fire, trickery, and mutiny, only two contestants were left standing unscathed.

Spencer switched her gaze between her mother and her girlfriend as the older woman recovered from a paint blast. "You shot my mom."

Ashley shrugged. "That's the name of the game, babe."

The rest of the war victims came out into the open to see what the final outcome was. Seeing the two teens free of colorful wounds, Glen was less than content.

"Whoa, whoa. The game's not over, girls. It doesn't end until there's only one person left."

Both Spencer and Ashley stared at the boy for a moment, then exchanged a look with each other. Hastily, the two girls raised their weapons at the same time, each aimed at the other. Neither trigger was pulled. Brown eyes stared into blue, mischief dancing in them.

The girls' respective team members grew anxious in the midst of the standstill.

"Ashley!" Aiden shouted. "Take her out!"

Glen gestured wildly. "Spencer, man, shoot her!"

"Come on, Carlin," Ashley taunted with a smirk.

Spencer's eyes narrowed. "You _wouldn't_."

"Like you _would_? You don't have it in you."

"I shot my own brother."

"And I shot Kyla…and your mom," the brunette added after a beat.

"Fine, have it your way." Spencer pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. "_Damn_."

As a string of much stronger words tumbled out of Glen's mouth, Ashley's jaw dropped. "You were going to shoot me."

Instead of answering, the blonde tried again, but she was met with the same empty _click_. Shaking the weapon, she made a third attempt with the same result.

"Check the safety," Sean suggested from the sidelines. "Sometimes they get stuck."

Taking his advice, Spencer wiggled the mechanism. With a muted crack, the weapon fired into the ground. Her self-satisfied smile was interrupted by the barrel of Ashley's gun waving into her line of sight.

"Nuh uh," the older girl warned. "Don't even think about it."

"S_hoot her, Ash_," Aiden stage whispered.

Ashley adjusted her aim. "Sorry, Spence, but this has to end."

The blonde conjured a magnificent pout. "I love you."

The brunette hesitated, staring blankly. Then, "…aw, man." The gun trained on Spencer fell, and a familiar _pop_ sounded, coating Ashley's foot in bright orange paint. "_Ow!_ Son of a—ow!"

Glen whooped in celebration, while Aiden hung his head.

The blonde girl rubbed her girlfriend's arm. "Aw, poor baby."

"You better appreciate that, Spence."

Judging from the blonde's whisper into Ashley's ear and the impish grin that soon replaced the brunette's grimace, Spencer was _definitely_ appreciative.

Aiden threw his hands up. "Ash, you _had_ her, and you cop out over an 'I love you?' You're such a wuss!"

Throwing him a brief glare, Ashley and Spencer traded glances. Acting together, the two girls turned, raised their weapons, and fired a couple paint rounds into Aiden's chest. As he doubled over with the sting of being shot at close range, Spencer and Ashley laughed and high-fived. Slinging their paint guns over their shoulders, they walked (or limped) out of the grounds hand in hand.

Therapeutic indeed.

_End._


	10. Confessions of a Brownie Addict

Memoirs of a Spashley Addict

_**Submission:**__ July 18, 2008_

_**Theme 5:**__ Director's Cut_

_**Setting:**__ After the camera fades at the end of Under My Skin._

* * *

**Confessions of a Brownie Addict**

"I'm glad you came back tonight. I couldn't handle another night without talking to you."

"Me too. I love…" Ashley caught herself just before the third word slipped out. With a nervous laugh, she diverted to the chocolaty goodness in front of her. "…these brownies."

Spencer sent her friend a sidelong glance. She watched in amusement as the brunette focused a little too hard on chewing, staring overenthusiastically at the plate in her lap. A knowing smile slowly overtook the blonde's features, and she tilted her head as she tried to meet her friend's gaze.

"That's not what you were going to say."

"Was too," Ashley answered all too quickly.

"Was not."

"It _was_."

"Liar."

"Nuh uh!"

"Uh huh!"

"I happen to love chocolate very much."

"I'm sure." Spencer allowed a few seconds of silence. "You were right, you know."

"About what?" Ashley wondered before taking a bite of her snack.

"I was jealous."

A bad swallow, and the brunette began coughing uncontrollably to dislodge the piece of the tasty treat that had gone down wrong. Spencer handed Ashley the glass of milk, which the girl hastily drank down. The blonde patted her back until it seemed her friend was no longer in danger of death by brownie.

"Now, what was it you were about to tell me?"

Ashley glared incredulously at the blonde. "I'm _choking_ on brownies here."

"Are you, uh, speaking metaphorically again, or…?"

The brunette stared blankly at Spencer. Then, "…yes." She donned a bad old-fashioned movie accent. "I'm chokin' on your brownies, Spencer, an' I'm chokin' hard."

The blonde's nose scrunched up as she squinted at her friend. "You're so weird."

"You already knew that."

"Yes I did. Now stop changing the subject."

Ashley shook her head. "Don't make me say it."

"Come on."

"No."

"Please?"

"No!"

"_Pretty_ please? I admitted I was jealous…"

"So?" Ashley was given a pointed look. "All right, fine! I kinda…" her voice dropped to a low mutter, "…love you…"

Spencer stared at her friend with mouth agape. "…Ash, I was just teasing you. I didn't think you'd actually say it…"

The brunette's jaw dropped in disbelief. "You…you…oh, I hate you."

"No you don't. You love me."

The brunette scoffed. "Yeah, in like a _friend_ sort of way, because that's totally what I meant."

Spencer quirked a brow. "A friend sort of way?"

"Yep."

"Oh. Well, in that case, I kinda love you, too. You know, in a _friend_ sort of way."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"So…we're clear then. We're just…friendly."

"Friendly," Spencer agreed, trying to hold back a smile.

Ashley nodded. "Right."

"Right."

"Okay then." Beat. "Spence?"

"Yeah?"

"Your brownies are hot."

Spencer just laughed.

_End._


	11. Tremors

Memoirs of a Spashley Addict

_**Submission:**__ August 8, 2008_

_**Theme 6:**__ Should Coulda Wouldas_

_**Setting:**__ Rewrite of the earthquake scene of Shake, Rattle, and Roll_

* * *

**Tremors**

Every person has the opportunity to make choices that affect not only oneself but the people around them as well. It's this defining moment that can alter a relationship's course forever. Spencer chose to take the punishment for a friend to save her from a bleak future.

Ashley's feelings about the selfless act didn't end at mere gratitude.

"I used to think no one cared about what happened to me. And then I met you."

The younger girl beamed at her admission, and the brunette gazed back with an almost cryptic smile on her face. Something in those brown eyes told Spencer everything was about to change. It wasn't hard to guess what Ashley was thinking, and the thought both frightened and excited the blonde. Giving in to impulse, Spencer pulled her friend into a warm embrace. With a contented sigh, Ashley held her friend close, nuzzling into her shoulder and breathing deeply.

"Did you just smell my hair?" Spencer asked, pulling back with a laugh.

"Uh, _no_." At the girl's raised brow, Ashley amended her answer. "Well, yeah, maybe a little."

The brunette pulled her lips tight in an (unsuccessful) effort to hide her guilty smile at being caught. Spencer watched her friend, patented head tilt in place and looking nothing short of amused.

Ashley's grin faded, and a murmured plea of the other girl's name left her lips. Spencer didn't move as the brunette traced her cheek with a soft fingertip, nor did she move when Ashley leaned across the distance separating them. When their lips hesitated a hairsbreadth away from each other, there was a moment of absolute stillness.

The two girls each let out a small giggle. The kind that comes out of nowhere but is intrinsically mutual because both girls know exactly what the other is thinking. The kind that only makes sense to the people laughing. Perhaps they were waiting for the inevitable interruption—a ringing phone, a knock on the door, an earthquake—but none came.

Ashley bit her own smiling lip, simply letting the tip of her nose brush against Spencer's. When she felt hesitant fingers slip past the collar of her jacket to trace her collarbone, the brunette reached that fraction closer, letting their lips touch in a whisper of a kiss. Those soft fingers grew bolder and slid up her neck, drawing her closer. Mouths pressed together more firmly, moving against each other slowly, tentatively.

When Ashley pulled gently away, she searched Spencer's face for any sign of discomfort. There, she found a happy grin, which she eagerly returned. It may not have been an earthquake, but a tremor had definitely run through them. From their mirrored smiles, the aftershocks to follow were going to be quite a ride.

_End._


	12. Mother Daughter Outings

Memoirs of a Spashley Addict

_**Submission:**__ August 15, 2008_

_**Theme 6:**__ Should Coulda Wouldas_

_**Setting:**__ Spencer and Paula in the pilot episode "Secret Truths"_

* * *

**Mother-Daughter Outings**

There are certain moments in every girl's life—some big, some small—that affect her; that move and shape her into the person she will become. There are also certain moments when some unknown possession-like force compels her to talk to her parents about it.

Such was a moment for Spencer Carlin.

"Mom? Was it ninth or tenth grade when you met Dad?"

Paula Carlin was slightly distracted as she concentrated on not running over the King High students milling about, but she nevertheless answered her daughter's question. "Um, it was ninth. And let me tell you, you're dad was _so_ cute" A thought struck the older blonde. "Wait, don't tell me you've met someone already."

"Yeah, maybe I have."

Paula sighed. "Cute?"

Spencer pictured deep auburn curls and dark eyes that danced with mirth. She gave a happy nod and a cryptic smile. "_I_ think so."

"Do I get a name?"

"Ashley," the daughter replied dreamily.

"What kind of parent names their son 'Ashley?'"

The rhetorical query was met with an eye roll. "What kind of parent names their daughter 'Spencer?'" the younger blonde countered.

"Oh, honey…"

Spencer waved it off. "Look, Mom—"

"I mean, I'm not criticizing the boy for his name—"

"Mom—"

"—I just find it unfortunate. This isn't _Gone With the Wind_, after all—"

"Mom?"

"—and I remember how cruel kids your age can be, so I—"

"Mom!"

Paula glanced at her child. "Yes dear?"

"I—" Spencer's eyes lit up. "Oh hey, there's Ashley over there."

The mother took her eyes off the gaggle of students in the parking lot to follow her daughter's gaze. "The dark-haired boy with the muscles?"

"No, that's Aiden."

"He's cute."

"I hadn't noticed," Spencer replied distractedly, still staring at the object of her affection.

"The boy in the baseball cap?" Paula guessed.

"No, the brunette in the gold top that's waving to me right now."

Light brows scrunched together. "That's Ashley…?"

"Yes."

The gears in Paula's mind were turning. "…I don't understand."

"You asked me if I've met someone."

"So, you made a new friend?" the mother reasoned.

"Yes."

Those gears were going into overdrive. "But you said you thought she was cute."

The teenager nodded. "I did, and I do."

The gears were screeching in protest by this point. "…I don't understand. Spencer, you're acting very strangely."

"I think I like girls," Spencer put simply.

"Like, as in friends?"

"Like, as in _girl_friends."

"As in friends who are girls?"

"No, Mom!" the teenager practically shouted in frustration. "As in romance and kissing and dating and—"

Blonde hair whipped through the air as blue eyes swiveled to meet her daughter's. "Are you having _sex?!_"

She was met with an exasperated sigh. "Just drive, Mom."

_End._


End file.
